


Leave it to Spikey

by Hello_Spikey



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-17
Updated: 2008-01-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 08:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15335865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: Okay, someone suggested a Fanged Four sitcom set in the 50s. I cannot let this go.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **kidcyclone** , this one's for you, again, as it's YOUR fanged four - Angel never got his soul, the family is happy and together. :) I may write more of these. In fact, I know I will write at least one more. hee hee.

Darla opened the door and stepped back with a twirl of skirt, gesturing into the modest ranch house with all the sublime elegance of a model indicating a fancy new gadget on the TV. “Enter, enter, a family of four are all tucked away in the basement waiting for our dinning pleasure. An athletic enough desk-jockey with just a hint of marbling, his lovely wife and two succulent boys. They were so eager to invite my whole family over for bridge.” She wafted an arm toward a card-table, still set up with small bowls of crackers and mini-gherkins.

Spike entered with a shrug, hands deep in the pockets of his leather jacket. His hair was black this decade, and pomaded into a close approximation of a duck’s ass. “That color?” he headed straight for the television set.

Drusilla of course bounced across the threshold with simple glee and started undoing the curtains to play with the sash-cords.

Darla crossed her arms. “Well?” She arched an eyebrow at Angelus.

Resplendent in his brown wool suit under the streetlights, Angelus looked pained. He raised and lowered a hand. “It’s… it’s hardly grand.”

“Darling, we’ve been over this. The Master is in this town, and if we’re to stay a while and visit so the children can properly get to know him, we need to stay in this town. I’m sorry but single-family ranch is as decadent as it gets in these small California towns.”

Angelus was in full-on pout mode and Darla feared they were going to revisit the argument over visiting Heinrich at all, so she folded her arms and gave him her best “remember who’s the sire here” glare.

He shrugged, looking around the quiet, suburban street. Every house in view was brand new, and only slightly different from the one Darla had appropriated. “It’s just… I won’t have anything to do here.”

She rolled her eyes extravagantly and walked up to grab his tie. “Angelus, you silly man. Would I leave you out of my considerations?” She stood on tip-toe and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling to bring her lips close to his ear. “There’s a Catholic school two blocks from here.”

He tried to hide his excitement, but it showed plainly in his casual, “Oh?”

“Mmmm. AND I may have stopped by there, after securing our lodgings, and inquired after enrolling my teen-age daughter.”

Angelus flexed his knees, sinking to look Darla in the eyes. “Tell me you did. You got one?”

She leaned back against his strong hands, pulling her best innocent eyelash flutter. “One what? You mean one midi blouse and plaid skirt? Why, Father Angelus, that’d be stealing!”

Angelus groaned deep in his throat and practically threw Darla in the front door of the modest house. Her peal of laughter rang in the quiet night until cut off by the closing door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, you all knew I had to continue it! There's just something PERVERTED about 50s sit-coms!
> 
> We join our hero the day after moving in to Suburban Tract housing. And he's been left home alone!

They’d left him home, alone, to ‘watch over the food’. With admonitions to not EAT the food, since the family of four was supposed to last them a good long time and keep the neighbors from getting suspicious.  
  
The only one of the family that was at all interesting was the mother. So Spike untied her, let her get dolled up, and then tied her up in the kitchen.  
  
She’d been lovely, tiny bird-like motions as she dressed, watching him anxiously every chance she got, even searching for him in the mirror, where of course he wasn’t. Spike sprawled on the good woman’s bed (twin beds – they didn’t know what they were missing). “No, no, not those.”  
  
She turned, hands shaking, almost dropping the little plastic bauble.  
  
Spike sighed dramatically and sauntered over to the dresser, flicking through the tray of costume jewelry and pulling out a pair of glass daisies, bright and fresh. “These. Go better with that dress.”  
  
“O-oh.” Mrs. Clever gently set down the red plastic balls and picked up the glass daisy earrings.  
  
He nodded his approval as she fastened them and smoothed her hair. “What… what are you going to do to me?” she asked the blank mirror.  
  
“C’mon now, I was right, wasn’t I?”  
  
Her nod was shaky, but he didn’t doubt she was being honest. Some people, you could just see the honesty in their faces. Spike led her by the arm to the kitchen, then, and tied her quick and secure to the dinette. “Now, see, you should take this as a compliment, love. I know you’re smart enough to figure a way out if I don’t tie you up. Those others, they discount you – I could see it in their eyes when we went to freshen up. Don’t think you’ll get away.”  
  
She felt like a bird, under his hands, trembling so lightly. “My son… you BIT my son.”  
  
“Well, YEAH. S’what vamps do, luv. Don’t worry, you can lose four pints before you croak.” He patted her fondly on the shoulder and strolled to the cabinets. “Let’s get those veins full up again, eh?”  
  
“What have we… more bridge mix. MORE bridge mix. Crackers. Catholic school. Darla and Angelus playing mum and pop taking little Drusilla to Catholic School. Like the soddin’ nuns are going to buy her being 18. An’ all out in the daylight like that. They are crackers, my elders. Abso-fuckin’ nuts.” He opened and closed several cupboards.  
  
“Well, I’m bored,” Spike said, jangling a handful of bridge-mix as he poked through the kitchen cabinets. “Cooking sherry. Don’t they sell the good stuff in the ‘burbs?” He tossed the bottle over his shoulder, it hit the wall by the clock with a cold thunk. “More sodding cherry juice. Seltzer water… aaaah…”  
  
“Please,” June gasped. Her face was strained and pale with blood loss. “Not the good crystal.”  
  
Spike flashed her a smile and put the tumbler he had taken out of the cabinet back. “How inconsiderate of me, pet,” he said. He advanced on her, hip-shot slow, popping the last of the bridge mix in his mouth and chewing with relish. The woman shrank back against the vinyl and metal dinette chair, which creaked a little in response.  
  
Spike settled one hip on the table. “Wouldn’t want to mess up the wedding china, eh? And may I say, you’re looking RAVISHING today, Mrs. Cleaver.” He flashed her a smile as bright and menacing as a bared switchblade and leaned across the formica surface.  
  
The back door swung open and a lanky youth walked in, pausing to make a vestigial knock. “Hey, Mrs. C…” The teen gaped slack-jawed at the dangerous predator draped across the kitchen table. “Company?” He squinted. “No WAY you’re a friend of Wally’s.”  
  
Spike straightened with a scowl. “That’s bloody annoying, that is, how you living types just waltz in to a man’s lair without so much as a by-your-leave. Fuckin’ unjust. Run along, Opie. The fine lady and I were having some adult time.”  
  
Eddie Haskel continued to squint and gape. June Clever was making tiny, distressed noises at the back of her throat and fidgeting oddly in her chair. An’ Mrs. C. NEVER fidgeted.  
  
Eddie didn’t know that the only thing preserving his life was the trapezoid of brilliant California sun that had followed him in the back door. “Are you from Scotland or something?”  
  
Spike’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Scotland?”  
  
“Eddie! Eddie run!” Mrs. Clever squealed, forcing the words out like her whole mouth was seized up.  
  
At which Spike pouted, leaning against the counter. “Gonna run, Eddie?” He picked a bottle up out of the sink and rolled it over in his hands as though fascinated by it.  
  
Eddie Haskel had to admit that this guy was cool. Cooler than cool. He had to be a greaser, sure, but not like the ones at school. No zits, for one thing, and his black t-shirt was downright wicked. And Eddie, relegated all his life to being the ‘bad’ kid on the block, suddenly felt downright wholesome. “You… you aren’t robbing the place, are you?”  
  
The cool stranger lowered his lashes and smiled like he’d been found out buying his sweetheart roses. “Yeah. Got your little pal Wally tied up in the den. Want to take a gander?”  
  
“Run,” June repeated. Her head was back, eyes closed, and she repeated without much breath, “run. Run, please just run.”  
  
“I could take a look, yeah. You, uh… you gonna take his comic books?” Eddie took a brave step forward.  
  
It was his last willful act. Spike snatched one forearm and wrapped the boy against his own body, holding him easily. “See, now, this is what I was telling you about, June,” He smiled over the boys’ shoulder. “No respect, s’obvious, for a beautiful woman like yourself. I ought to let you go and keep the weasel to take your place.”  
  
“No. Let him go, please!” Her eyes were wide and pleading now.  
  
Spike sighed heavily. “And see? That’s the whole problem. You lot are weeding out your own best members. GOD humanity is thick.” He kicked the back of the boy’s legs, easily breaking his knees and letting him drop in a howling heap. He stepped over the body and let a finger brush down June’s muslin sleeve.  
  
She shivered and cringed back as much as she could. “Please,” she whispered. “There must be some decency in you.”  
  
“There really isn’t, love.” Then, just as inhumanly quick, he spun June’s chair in one hand and snapped the ropes off the back. “’Gelus is going to flay my bum when he gets home,” he muttered, and lifted the chair, toppling a startled Mrs. Clever out of it. “Now YOU run, gorgeous. Before I stop feeling quite so charitable.”  
  
She crawled backward, her wide, stiff skirt brushing the tile. “You… you’re letting me go?”  
  
“Shoo!” he said, waving his hands at her as she entered the streaming sunlight. “And close the door, would ya? That shit’s dangerous.” He pointed at the square of sunlight.  
  
As the door slammed shut and he heard the woman running down the driveway, he turned with a sigh back to the sobbing teenager by the sink. “It’s for the good of us all, mate. And by ‘us all’, I mean vampires. Kill off all the soft kind ones and we’ll be stuck hunting stringy bastards like you all the time.” He hauled Eddie up by his collar, though the boy’s legs flailed helplessly under him, unable to bear his weight anymore. “So don’t you go sayin’ anything to Himself or Herself about how I’m a big fat softy for mother-types, because that’s a fuckin’ LIE. I’m a bloody animal.”  
  
“What… whatever you say… whatever you want… sir… don’t…. just don’t kill me!”  
  
Spike rolled his eyes. “As if THAT should be your worst worry. C’mon. I’ll show you to your mate.” He dragged the whimpering boy back into the den. “Should be worth a couple giggles. An’ I tell you, they’re lucky this is all I’m doing while they leave me home alone. Hell of a way for Darla to go just to get Angelus the mother of all stiffies. If I was that Catholic School I wouldn’t let the lot of them in the front gate – ‘course I also know WHAT they are.”  
  
He kicked open the sliding door to the den and immediately the three male heads all turned to face him, old, young and youngest. “Look who’s come to visit! Your old pal Eddie!” Spike tossed the rugrat at Wally. “Now it’s just us gents, let’s see what trouble we can get up to before the ladies come home, eh? All three of them.” He winked conspiratorially.  
  
The air was rank with fear, sweat, and the muffled cries of three gagged faces. The little one was especially tasty, his puffy, freckled cheeks sagging out from the gag as he looked helplessly up at Spike. Pity Dru called dibs. But, then, none of these blokes knew that.  
  
Spike rubbed his hands together. “I’ll be right back with the drinks and the cards. I hope you sorry lot play poker better than you look. Think about what you want to play for, eh? Me, I’ll be going for bites. So think what’s equal to that, yeah?”  
  
He slid the door shut again with a proud sweep of his arm and practically danced back to the kitchen. With the missus gone, there was no reason not to use the good tumblers.


End file.
